Through 'glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;

And fearless there the lowly sleep,

As the bird beneath their eaves.

The free, fair Homes of England!

Long, long, in hut and hall,

May hearts of "native proof be reared,

To guard each 12hallowed wall!

1

And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves

Its country and its God!

4

Mrs. Hemans.

6

2 stately, very grand. ancestral, old; planted by forefathers. 3 hearths, firesides. ruddy light, red light of the fire. 5 glorious page of old, story of olden times telling of noble deeds. bowers, places overhung by trees. silvery brooks, the sun shining on the brooks makes them look like silver. hamlet-fanes, the village churches. glowing orchards, trees bright with blossoms or fruit. 10 lowly, poor people. "native proof, brave and strong. 12 hallowed, holy; sacred.

9

"Is the great council ended, Peter?" asked the bee-hunter.

Yes, it is over. No more council now on Prairie Round."

"And the chiefs-have they all gone on their proper paths? What has become of my old acquaintance, Crowsfeather, and all the rest of themBears' Meat in particular?"

"All gone. No more council now. That council was called together by me; you know that.”

"I have heard you say that such was your intention, and I suppose you did it, chief. They tell me you have great power among your own people.”

by your ad

vice, than I

might have otherwise

done. Mar

gery is now my wife, and I thank you heartily for

helping me to

get married so much sooner than I expected."

Here Peter grasped Boden by the hand, and

poured out his whole soul, secret hopes, fears, and wishes. On this occasion he spoke in the Indian dialect, one of those he knew the bee-hunter understood. And we translate what he said freely into English, preserving as much of the original idiom as the change of language will permit.

"Listen, hunter of the bee, and great medicine of the pale-faces, and hear what a chief that knows the 'red men is about to tell you. Let my words go into your ears; let them stay in your mind. They are words that will do you good.

'My young friend knows our traditions. They do not tell us that the Indians were Jews; they tell us that the 'Manitou created them red men. They tell us that our fathers used these hunting grounds ever since the earth was placed on the back of the big tortoise which upholds it. The pale-faces say the earth moves. If this be true, it moves as slowly as the tortoise walks. It cannot have gone far since the Great Spirit lifted his hand off it. If it moves, the hunting grounds move with it, and the tribes move with their own hunting-grounds.

8" Such are our traditions. They tell us that this land was given to the red men, and not to the palefaces; that none but red men have any right to hunt here. The Great Spirit has laws. He has told us these laws. They teach us to love our friends and hate our enemies. You don't believe this, Boden?"

9" This is not what our priests tell us," answered the bee-hunter. "They tell us that the white man's

God commands us to love all alike-to do good to our enemies, to love them that wish us harm, and to treat all men as we would wish men to treat us."

Peter was a good deal surprised at this doctrine, and it was nearly a minute before he resumed the discourse. He had recently heard it several times and it was slowly working its way into his mind.

"Such are our 10traditions, and such are our laws. Look at me. Fifty winters have tried to turn my hair white. Time can do that. The hair is the only part of an Indian that ever turns white; all the rest of him is red. That is his colour. The game know an Indian by his colour. The tribes know him. Everything knows him by his colour. He knows the things which the Great Spirit has given him in the same way. He does not like strange things. He does not like strangers. White men are strangers, and he does not like to see them on his hunting-ground. If they come singly, to kill a few buffaloes, or to look for honey, or to catch beavers, the Indians would not complain. They love to give of their abundance. The palefaces do not come in this fashion. They do not come as guests; they come as masters. They come and they stay. Each year of my fifty have I heard of new tribes that have been driven by them towards the setting sun.

'Boden, for many seasons I have thought of this. I have tried to find a way to stop them. There is but one. That way must the Indians try, or give up their hunting-grounds to the strangers."